We Can't Do This Again
by 347-Flavors
Summary: Your relationship with Mitsuko really is maddening. Especially when she shows up half-drunk on your doorstep in the middle of the night. Mitsuko/Takako. Lightly NSFW.


A/N: Welp, it was only a matter of time. I've been in the Battle Royale fandom since April and I even run a roleplay blog. I don't know why it took me so long to start fanfic-ing about it. This is pretty much my OTP for the series, Mitsuko Souma/Takako Chigusa. The circumstances in the fic are inspired somewhat by the aforementioned roleplay.

On a side note, this became smutty just by itself. NO PLANNING OF MINE I PROMISE.

On another side note, I'm not sure how I feel about the characterization for this one . . .

* * *

This weekend was supposed to be restful. Relaxed. A reprieve from the whirlwind that was your home life. With your very talkative sister heading to summer camp and your abnormally protective parents staying over in the area to see her off, you were expecting two days of peace. You could get home from conditioning, shower, and spend the rest of the night doing whatever you chose. It was all going so well, but come Sunday morning fate knocked at your door to remind you that nothing in your life could go as planned.

Well, not fate _really_.

It's around 2 A.M. when you awake to the howling of your dog, Hanako. Usually her noise-making wouldn't disturb you – it would last a few moments and then be done with, once the offending squirrel or motorcyclist had passed by your home. This time, she's keeping at it for a good ten minutes.

"Fuck. It's too damn early for this," you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to will yourself back to sleep. Thirty seconds of yelping later, you're out of bed, squatting by the front door, and sleepily interrogating your dog.

"What's the matter, girl? Did you see some lightning? Is there another dog in the yard?"

And that's when you hear the knock, a weak rapping on your door. No, it's not fate. In fact, you regret indulging yourself in that shitty metaphor. Cautiously, you crack open the door and it doesn't look like anyone's there, but upon closer inspection you see a girl crouched in the darkness, doubled over and puking into your bushes. You find it somewhat pathetic that you don't even need to ask yourself who it is. Closing the door again to make sure Hanako doesn't dash outside, you head towards her. Her hair is in her face, and it's ridiculous, but you end up holding it back, even the strings plastered to her forehead by sweat.

You figure you should at least wait until she's finished to start laying into her.

"Mitsuko, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Throwing up in your fucking bushes, that's what. Unless you would be so kind as to offer me a bathroom," she spits.

It's too dark for her to see, but you roll your eyes anyway. For your own appreciation, you suppose.

"And what makes you think you can just invite yourself into my house?"  
"Because Yoshimi's parents are home. And I'm sick."

"Hungover, you mean?"

From her tone, you can tell she's rolling her eyes too, "No, in fact, I'm probably still sort of drunk. I'll be officially hung over once I get all the booze out of my system. Now it's your choice, Taka. That can either happen inside your house, in a toilet designed for the purpose, or in your front lawn."

She turns to look at you and you can see there the corners of her eyes start to water.

"How sincere are those tears, on a scale of one to ten?"

Honestly, you'll take anything above a four.

"I guess a six. Being sick is pretty shitty."

"Fine then," you sigh, "come in."

After Mitsuko's done with her "toilet worshipping" – as she so charmingly put it –, you insist that she take a damn shower. You won't have her trailing vomit across your house, thank you very much. How could you have known she would have started stripping right then and there? With no warning, it's not surprising you were a bit stunned. You had to assure her that _no _you were _not_ enjoying the fucking view, you were just dazed and caught off guard and you had every right to stare. Okay, so you had to assure yourself too.

And now that she's in the shower, you gather some pyjamas for her to change into as well as your thoughts.

Your relationship with her, calling it complicated is a vast understatement. Maddening is more like it, because everything about her and the two of you together really does make you so angry. You're pissed at how easily she's willing to take advantage of you and how easily you're willing to forgive and start trusting her again. You're pissed at how goddamn sexy she is and how much you think about her. You're pissed that she probably doesn't even think about you when she's rubbing one out, let alone when she's falling asleep at night. You're pissed that all you're good for to her is a casual fuck and a place to spend a drunken night.

And it's supremely infuriating because, fuck, you usually know how to handle anger. You thrive on being outraged. It feels good to hate Kazushi Niida, who treats you just as badly as she does. But you don't want to hate her. It makes you uncomfortable, sick to your stomach. Sometimes you even want to defend her. You want to protect her. You want to believe that she's just extraordinarily damaged and misguided and all she needs is people to care about her.

You especially want to believe this when she steps out of the bathroom, wearing your too-big bedclothes and looking for all the world like the lover she insists she is.

"How did you even know my parents were out of town?"

Mitsuko yawns, lazily stretching her limbs over your couch cushions. You're sitting on the floor, resting your back against the sofa, and she drapes an arm over your shoulder nearest her. You consider slapping it away, but decide against it.

"You told Hiroki, Hiroki mentioned it to Kayoko, Kayoko brought it up to Izumi, and Izumi told me."

"You certainly have your ways," you mutter. Her hand runs through your hair and your eyes narrow as the tips of her fingers stroke against your neck.

You must have shuddered at the contact, because she smugly replies, "Like hell I do."

It's your turn to yawn now, and you ask her what even happened to get her in this state. She gives some convoluted answer, involving mousetraps, broken glass, and attempted murder. You scoff at the latter, leading her to insist, almost childishly, that she's _serious_, Taka, the bitch was trying to _kill _her.

"Well, you're here now, so I suppose she didn't try hard enough."

"Aren't you glad?"

She giggles and leans her upper body off the couch, extending the reach of her arms enough to draw a finger along your collarbone. You try your damnest not to react, which really is an accomplishment, seeing as your whole body has apparently decided upon mutiny. She can sense your tension, knows that you're trying to restrain yourself, so she slides off the couch altogether and turns to face you. You're relieved when she takes her finger off your collarbone. Not so much once she replaces the finger with her mouth. You can't help but jerk just the smallest bit, and she takes the opportunity to press a hand between your legs. Before you even know what you're doing, your hips push you greedily against her. Her giggle becomes a full-fledged laugh, humming against your skin.

She replaces her hand with her leg, maneuvering her thigh between yours. Well, shit, that feels good.

You're bucking your hips now because, God, there's just this fantastic warmth gathering between your legs and it's maddening and confusing as always because it's Mitsuko. You're clutching at the clothes she's wearing – your clothes –, that's how intense the feeling starts to become and you need to ground yourself somehow, don't you? She laughs again and you realize you're panting. You're gasping, even fucking moaning and shit, shit, _shit_, you realize how sexual this became and how fucking fast.

You nearly jump off her and to your feet, whirling around.

"We can't do this again."

You think _you_ might be sick and you almost run back into your room, leaving her on the floor there. She has a fucking blanket, she can take care of herself for the rest of the night.

You stay in your room for almost half an hour, stuck between fuming and disappointed and finally settling on exhausted. You want to call Kahoru and cry and ask what the fuck is wrong with you. You want to kick and scream and beat the shit out of Mitsuko. You want to finish what you started. Instead you just bury your face in a pillow and try to forget and just go the fuck to sleep.

And then, your door creaks open.

You're too confused and honestly, just too drained, so you take it upon yourself to pretend you're sleeping. Apparently she buys it, approaching you quietly. You know she's convinced when she bends by the side of your bed, brushes her lips softly against your cheek, and whispers that she guesses she probably should be sorry and stuff like that. Not that she is, of course. She just _guesses_ she should be.

You're glad she leaves so quickly, or the redness crawling across your face would have given you away.


End file.
